The Key to Every Door
by SGreenD
Summary: Raylan drags Boyd into an unfortunate encounter with some shady-lookin' fella who might or might not have blown up some cars... and all of that on Christmas Eve! - No slash, just friendship of a kind, little bit of Boyd whump.
1. Chapter 1

I have been chewing on some Justified fic for quite a while now, and now that it's Christmas, and ain't that a special occasion, I had a sudden surge of inspiration and I am trying with all I have to finish this story before Christmas is over. I thought it would be easier... somehow it's not moving at the right pace...

But, as I said. I try. Now. About the story.

It takes place, as will be mentioned an exhausting amount of times throughout the chapters, on Christmas Eve, and that's about everything that makes it a Christmas story. It'll be mostly Boyd, cause that's just how I do it, and Raylan, too, cause I love both of 'em, and they're a great team. This first chapter is written from Daniel Duris' POV, an OC I introduced in my last Justified fic, "Some Kind of Strange", and I'd recommend reading that first, cause I think otherwise you'd be lost, or bored, probably both. Or you can forgo the first chapter altogether and start with the second chapter which I'll post as soon as I can and which is a) from Raylan's POV and b) that's where the actual plot starts.

Rating's T, as a precaution. Also, English is not my native language, I do my best. If you got constructive criticism for me, I'll be glad to hear it.

Also, I do not own Justified, and am not making any money with this.

That being said, enjoy!

* * *

The Key to Every Door

* * *

It was the 24th of December, and Daniel Duris was quite excited, mainly because it would be the first Christmas Eve in six years for him that he would not spend alone. Or in a prison cell.

When Boyd Crowder had recruited him – it couldn't be described any different, since that was exactly what it was – he'd introduced Daniel to his cousin Johnny, a grumpy guy in a wheelchair, his associate Jimmy, a guy about Daniel's age who seemed nice enough, if not a little stupid, and his beautiful girlfriend, Ava. Seeing her made Daniel's mouth dry and his palms sweat. He'd never been good with girls.

Johnny was the only one who eyed him with any suspicion. With his grayed hair and narrowed eyes he looked just like that Marshal with the Stetson. Ava greeted him with an open smile and some kind words, and the nice chat and drink in the bar turned into dinner at Ava's house, where Daniel had the best homemade dinner in six years. Granted, it was the only one, too, but that just made it even more special for him. He stopped looking at Boyd Crowder like the man was a criminal mastermind, which he probably was, and started looking at him like a… good man. Like a friend. Because that's how Boyd talked to Daniel: Like they were friends, equals.

Most of the people Daniel had talked to since he'd been released from prison had only talked down to him. In prison it had been everyone. Daniel had started to feel that if there was a pecking order in life, he had to be at the bottom of it. He'd grown used to the feeling, then, fueled by the fact that his family hated him for the one sole mistake he had ever made in his whole life, and at some point he'd stopped caring. And now Boyd Crowder came along and practically told him, if not in words, then in actions, that this was not true, that Daniel did not have to place himself at the bottom of any order he felt there might be.

After Ava had poured some bourbon into him, Daniel started to loosen up a little, talked a little more, and when Boyd made the suggestion about borrowing him "The Handmaid's Tale" again, he told Boyd that he'd already read it, and they started a discussion about what was good about it and what was not, and the other occupants at the table consisting of Johnny and Ava stopped talking and just listened, not only to Boyd, who sounded like he was born to make people listen to him, but to Daniel, as well, as if what he said actually mattered some.

And that, Daniel knew for certain, had never been the case before, not even with his own family, not even when he hadn't been to prison yet, when he'd just been a small, shy, straight-A student.

At about 1 o'clock in the morning, Johnny had said goodnight an hour before, Daniel said it was time to go home. He was pleasantly buzzed, and tired, and not too keen on getting in his old Sedan for the two-and-a-half-hour drive back to Oliver Springs, especially now that it got colder at night and the heater in his car had long since stopped functioning. He'd be freezing his ass off, he just knew it, but that there might be the possibility to avoid getting into any vehicle tonight entirely, it never crossed his mind.

"Where do you live?" Ava asked him from across the table, sipping at her bourbon.

"Oliver Springs."

She furrowed her lovely brow. "Never heard of it. Where is that?"

"Tennessee" Boyd answered. "About 30 miles from Knoxville, I think."

"Is it far?"

"Bout two and a half hours from here, ain't that right?" Boyd looked straight at Daniel, as if he'd just asked a question that he seriously needed an answer to. Daniel knew already that Boyd liked to do that, asking obvious questions and prompting Daniel to talk.

"S'about right" he said and shrugged his shoulders.

"Two and a half hours?" Ava sounded offended and Daniel looked at her, worried now and seriously confused.

"Yeah. What?"

"Honey, you ain't drivin' that long a way in the middle of the night now. You're drunk, and tired, and we got a spare room. I can get you two blankets and a pillow."

"No, no, that's so not necessary, I can just drive…"

But Ava was having none of it. Daniel looked to Boyd for help and saw the familiar toothy grin pointed at him. Something clicked.

"Well… alright, I guess." He yawned and covered his mouth with one hand.

"So you're livin' in Tennessee?" Ava smiled, now that she got what she wanted.

"Yeah."

"Were you born there, too?"

"Uhuh."

"You got family down there?"

"Not really."

"What d'you mean, not really?" Boyd sounded curious, and wide awake. "Either you got some, or you don't."

"Well, my family do live there, but they don't see me as family no more, so…"

"Why, what happened?" Ava asked, sounding upset.

"Oh, prison happened, baby, I can tell you that much" Boyd sighed.

Daniel looked at his lap. "Yeah. Didn't want nothin' to do with me when I got my release three years early, the lot of 'em. Disowned me, the whole deal."

"Disowned you?" Ava asked. "What did they do that for?"

"Don't know. They never told me. Just got a letter, two months into my sentence, 'n that was that."

"You got any friends in Oliver Springs, Daniel?" Boyd asked, and Daniel heard that tone in his voice again, like Boyd was asking this question because he wanted the conversation to have a certain outcome.

"Nah. Ain't so good at makin' friends. Suck at keeping 'em, too."

"So… what is it that's holdin' you there, then?" Boyd looked at him quite pointedly. To someone else that question might have seemed offensive, but Daniel Duris took it for what it was. He thought hard about it, like he did with everything Boyd said.

"Well… I've lived there all my life… I got a home there…"

"May I correct you, son; you got a residence there. You ain't got no home where your people live and turn their backs on you the minute you do somethin' wrong. That ain't the definition of home."

"Okay then. I don't got a home there. What're you tellin' me?"

"Come to Kentucky is what I'm tellin' you, son! Time for a fresh start, don't you think?" Boyd grinned at him again. "Also, if we be seein' you around here more often, and I do hope that we'll do, you can't always make that long a drive back and forth. No offense, but your car don' look like it's up to that task."

It wasn't, Daniel knew from experience. "But, it might take a while, I… I have to look for a place to live here first-"

"Well, you could always stay with us" Ava intercepted.

Boyd looked at her like she'd just given him a present. "Thank you, Ava, for makin' that kind suggestion" he said slowly, pretending that it had been her idea all along while Ava and Daniel could see right through him.

"No", Daniel said. "I can't do – I don't want to force myself – I mean, you barely know-"

"Daniel" Boyd interrupted his stammering. "Yes, you can do that. You ain't forcing nothin' on us, it was Ava, made the suggestion, and, in my opinion, I think we know you just enough to know that this is a very good idea."

"Take it, Danny" Ava said. It was what his momma had always called him, she couldn't know, but it made him flinch and love her at the same time. "It's alright to say yes, you know. We ain't gonna disown you if you make a mistake. That's not how it goes, not with us."

"You can have a home here" Boyd added. And so the deal was sealed.

That was two months ago, and Daniel had not actively looked for a place to live yet, although he'd sworn that this arrangement was just temporary. He'd just moved into the spare room, slept wrapped up in blankets and a spare pillow on the spare mattress until he got the bed linen from his old apartment in Tennessee, along with some other things, mostly books. Boyd and Jimmy had accompanied him, and Daniel felt, for the first time in a long time, not alone. About a week later they made the drive to Springs again, with Boyd's pickup and another one, and transported all the furniture that Daniel wanted to keep to Harlan to deposit it in some storage room that Boyd was able to rent for next to nothing.

That same day, they followed him when he went to talk to his landlord to give up the apartment. Daniel didn't have to quit his job, his boss did that all by himself when Daniel didn't show up the second day in a row. Now there really was nothing left that would have kept him in this town.

Daniel thought about telling his parents he was moving to Kentucky, but he didn't.

And today was Christmas Eve. It was 9 am, and he listened politely as Ava chatted away about what she was going to cook them for dinner and that she could hardly wait to see Boyd's face when he opened his present.

Thinking of Boyd, Daniel wondered why he hadn't gotten up yet – usually Boyd was an early riser, always the first to get up, to take a shower, to make some coffee, strong enough to wake the dead. But today he'd slept in. Not that it was a particularly nice day so far, Daniel thought as he looked out of the window at the steel-gray sky and the rain that was lightly beating against the windowpane. The sun hadn't completely ascended the hills yet, so it was still dark outside. Daniel could hear the wind blow. But Ava had lit a couple of candles, and it was warm in the kitchen, and the sound of the rain against the glass of the windows was soothing, as was the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the air that mingled with the spicy scent of the small fir tree Boyd had brought in yesterday. Ava had decorated it and charmed Daniel into giving her a hand. The whole scene was so ridiculously homey that for a moment, Daniel wanted to pinch himself.

This was a good thing. Good things didn't happen to Daniel Duris. Or at least that's what he'd thought for 28 years. Maybe, Daniel thought to himself and smiled a small smile while he sipped the coffee that Ava had made, maybe I've thought that all wrong.

Him and Ava looked up when they heard someone descending the stairs. A minute later Boyd entered the kitchen, looking crumpled from being in bed too long, his hair looking even wilder than usual, and greeted them with a long, loud, drawn-out yawn.

"Mornin' to you, too, sunshine" Ava said laughing. "Are you okay? You haven't slept that long in… well, ever."

"Didn' sleep well" Boyd murmured.

"Yeah, I noticed. You been tossin' and turnin' the whole night."

"Sorry, baby." He kissed her on the top of her head on the way to the coffee machine. Daniel noticed he took his coffee black, with a spoonful of sugar and nothing else. Boyd sat on the chair next to Ava heavily and sighed.

"You excited yet?" Ava padded his leg through the pajama bottoms he was wearing.

"Excited?" Boyd looked at her blearily. "Baby, what the hell would I be excited about?"

"It's Christmas Eve, Boyd! It's gonna be beautiful. Johnny's comin' over, and I'm gonna spend the whole afternoon cooking – I'mma try out a new recipe today, something I read in a magazine, and have you seen the tree? Danny helped me decorate it."

"Uhuh" Boyd murmured, swallowing half of his coffee in one go.

Ava furrowed her brow. "You really sure you are okay?"

"I just didn' sleep well, nothin' to worry about, I promise." He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and Daniel, who was good at observing things, knew that these two people loved each other with all their hearts. It was beautiful, and he'd never experienced something like it himself. He hoped he would one day.

The morning progressed, the sun slowly peeked over the hills and it became lighter outside, though the rain did not abate. Boyd chatted with Ava and Daniel and seemed more and more alert. Everything seemed fine, until Boyd said he would go take a shower and made to stand up – suddenly his face turned white, and Daniel stood up and reached out to him, saying his name worriedly. Ava turned from the stove and rushed over to where Boyd was faltering.

"Baby? Boyd, are you okay? What is it?"

Boyd closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'mma… need to go… outside" he said. They watched him slowly walk to the door, heard him walk out into the stronger rain, and when they heard him throw up, Ava ran after him.

Daniel slowly followed her lead, and he stopped on the porch and looked on as Boyd stood at the foot of the stairs, holding onto the railing for dear life while he lost the two cups of coffee he'd consumed onto Ava's front yard, and Ava stood next to him, her face distorted with worry while she tenderly stroked his back. The two of them were getting soaked in rain, but Boyd didn't notice and Ava didn't care.

When there was nothing left for Boyd to throw up, he carefully sat himself on the wet steps and let out a shuddering sigh. Ava crouched down in front of him and lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

"Baby, what is it? What's goin' on? You sick?"

"I don' know… feel better now, though." Boyd shrugged his shoulders. "I'm still exhausted, but I'm okay now, I think."

"You should come inside, then. You're soakin' wet – if you ain't sick now, you might be later if you don't warm yourself up. It's freezing!"

"Actually, I'm hot as hell right now."

Ava touched Boyd's forehead with her palm to check for a fever, and Daniel didn't fault her on it – it was really cold outside. A few degrees lower, he thought, and they might have snow on Christmas Eve, and Boyd was sitting there in nothing but a wifebeater that was already completely soaked through and pajama bottoms that weren't far behind, and he was complaining about heat?

"You don't seem to have a fever… but I don't care, you're comin' in right now, Boyd, come on. Take a shower, eat something, and you'll feel better. Okay?"

Boyd wiped a hand across his face and blinked through the rain. "Okay" he said and slowly lifted himself. This time he didn't falter, although he had a steel grip on the railing when he climbed up the stairs to the porch. Ava stayed next to him the whole time, a save hand on his shoulder.

Inside, she told him to sit on one of the kitchen chairs and got a towel. Daniel lurked at the edge of the room and watched concernedly as Boyd struggled to peel the wet wifebeater off of his body. Daniel gazed at the swastika on Boyd's upper arm. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it, but he remembered what he'd thought when he did – it was just so huge, and dark and imposing, although its meaning probably had something to do with that. Daniel wanted to ask Boyd if it bothered him sometimes to carry that thing around with him, but he'd been too shy before, and now that Boyd seemed to feel ill it was obviously not the right time for this conversation.

Ava came back with a towel and told him to dry his hair and then go take a shower. "And put somethin' on your stomach, will you?" she said and kissed his forehead before looking at him softly. "You'll feel better."

"Alright, Ava." Boyd had a way of saying her name like it was a praise. It always made Daniel smile when he heard it.

* * *

That was the first chapter. As I said, the actual plot starts in chapter 2. There was a little Boyd whump in it, I couldn't help myself, and there's just not enough of it in this world. Also, this is my first multi-chaptered Justified fic, and if anyone's inclined to review, I certainly won't complain.

The title is a line from "Rocky Mountain High" by John Denver. I do listen to John Denver sometimes, but Justified made me discover a side of myself that actually enjoys listening to country music every now and then :)


	2. Chapter 2

This is chapter 2. As promised, it's Raylan's POV, and the plot starts rolling. Though, there's not that much happening... I totally got lost in dialogue, as it tends to happen when I write Boyd and Raylan... I just love to hear them talk.

Chapter 3 is almost done, chapter 4 all mapped out already. I'm writing like a maniac, haven't been this inspired in, like, EVER, and if all goes well, I'll be unwrapping season 1 on DVD tonight. Yaaaay :)

I won't be posting anything else today, as mighty fine as the writing process may go. So I wish all of you a wonderful Christmas!

Enjoy!

* * *

The Key to Every Door

* * *

Chapter 2

It was the 24th of December and Raylan Givens was not what one would call excited, mainly since he was never one to get into the holiday spirit easily, and since Christmas was all about spending time with your family and Raylan had spent about 90 percent of the last 20 years with being away from his family, or what was left of it anyway, for Raylan it mostly was just another day.

When he'd still been married to Winona it had been easier to feel the Christmas spirit, shopping for gifts, buying a tree for her to decorate, eating take-out that was more expensive than the usual – it was nice. Not necessary, but nice. Before that his Christmases hat consisted of one lone gift from Helen and hiding from an especially drunk and aggressive Arlo. After the end of his marriage Christmas had consisted of working, drinking and some usual take-out. He'd tried the movies, but "Home Alone" almost made him wish he'd never have children, and "Scrooged" had, for some odd reason, depressed him to no end. Raylan had settled for "Die Hard" and half a bottle of Jim Beam for tonight, and he was okay with it.

He thought about the considerable amount of paperwork that he'd left on his desk on Friday when he got out of his car. It was a quarter to nine, he was early today, traffic had been kind, strangely enough. Raylan hadn't slept so well, tossing and turning. The fact that Christmas was right around the corner and that everybody had to bring it up every five minutes had made him restless.

He liked to pretend it wasn't because he felt lonely. He liked to pretend he wasn't lonely, at that.

The gap between pretending and reality was quite huge, Raylan knew that from personal experience. But what he did know was that he didn't miss Winona, not right at this moment, as he got into the elevator in the courthouse, he just missed the idea of her.

Yawning, Raylan exited the elevator as it halted on his floor. He hadn't even made it halfway to his desk when Art called out to him from his office.

"Raylan!"

Raylan tipped his hat at him and threw a look at his desk: Nope, no new paperwork. It all looked just as he'd left it Friday night. Sighing, he proceeded to enter Art Mullen's office.

"Mornin', Art."

"Good morning, Raylan, you're early. Something wrong?"

"What? Why? I'm not even here five minutes and already you think something's wrong with me?"

"Experience, Raylan, nothing more and nothing less."

Raylan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm fine. That it?"

"You're early, is all I'm saying. You're never early."

"Hey." Raylan pointed a finger at him. "That's not true."

"Prove me wrong." Art smiled at him.

"Okay. If that is all you've called me into your office for, I'mma go to my desk now. Got a lot of paperwork with my name on it."

Raylan turned to leave, and Art lifted a hand to stop him. "No, wait, there's something else."

"Let's hear it, then" Raylan said and took a seat in front of Art's desk.

"There was another car bombing last night."

Raylan furrowed his brow. "Another one? Jesus Christ."

"In Pineville, this time. The third one in seven days."

Raylan took the file that Art handed him. "So. That's quite spectacular an' all, Art, but I don't see why car bombings should fall under the Marshal's purview." He flinched when he thought of how much like Boyd he'd sounded just now. It only got worse when Art opened his mouth next.

"I'm gonna tell you what the really spectacular thing about it all is, now. Those bombings, they all took place either in, or around Harlan County. And now it just so happens that there's a certain shitkicker criminal who used to rob banks by blowing up cars and who also used to dug coal with you 20 years ago and who you, I think, know quite well, and it just so happens that he lives in Harlan."

"Art, that don't sound like Boyd, and you know that as well as I do. He's not robbin' banks no more, and even if he was, there were no bank robbings connected to those car bombings. Actually…" Raylan flipped through the file. "… there were no bank robbings whatsoever, in, like, a year or so."

"I know." Art fiddled with a pen, tapped it on his desk. "But the local PD are completely clueless, and if anyone knows what goes on in Harlan, criminal-wise, it must be Crowder. And since you, the hillbilly-whisperer, have nothing to do but some paperwork that you should be so well-accustomed with by now you can do it in your sleep, I wondered if maybe you could take a drive down to Harlan, ask around if anyone's heard anything about some creature blowing up cars for pleasure. Or… something."

"And I presume with 'anyone' you mean Boyd."

"And associates."

"Right." Raylan sighed. "Alright, I'll do it. Do you think there's any chance of splitting the paperwork with Rachel and Tim?"

"And bring coffee on the way back" Art not-answered and turned to his computer.

"I'll try not to forget." Raylan lifted himself from his seat. "Later, Art."

"Bye, Raylan."

Raylan turned and took the same way back that he'd come only minutes before. He was not particularly looking forward to spending the better part of today in his car on the way to and from Harlan. He thought hard about asking Tim or Rachel to accompany him, just so he wouldn't be alone, but he was in the elevator by then, and to cover the distance from the first floor back up to the Marshal's office just to hear that they were busy (Rachel) or didn't feel like it (Tim) didn't seem worth it. So he got into his car on his own, turned up the heater against the cold and set off on his way.

He stopped for coffee and a bagel before exiting Lexington. Skipping breakfast did not seem like a good idea if he was gonna be on the road till after noon. Switching from radio station to radio station, he finally found one that wasn't playing Christmas songs. It was some country rock band that sounded like it had gotten together with a hapless punk rocker to try and copy Nirvana, but Raylan left it on because he did NOT want to listen to Christmas music and there was only so much a man could do to pass his time on a three-hour-drive to his hated childhood home town.

The radio station played more songs of that grunge-punk-country band and Raylan started to like them. The three hours passed fairly quick, considering it was Harlan he was heading to.

At noon Raylan put his car in park in front of Ava's house. While it had been lightly snowing in Lexington, in Harlan it was raining cats and dogs, but a few degrees warmer, though not enough for Raylan to feel comfortable getting out of his heated town car.

Ava had to have heard the motor because she was waiting for him at the door when he reached the porch and took of his hat to shake some water from it.

"Hello, Ava."

"Hey, Raylan" she said, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, it's good that you ask me that cause I wanted to talk t-"

"Yeah, you wanna talk to Boyd, I figured that. I jus' wanna know why you wanna do that."

Now Raylan frowned, too. "Why the hell wouldn't I? There's always something going on, right? I'm sure you and him are involved in something right now that would require me to question him…"

"NOT today" Ava interrupted him. "Just not today, alright? It's Christmas Eve, and Boyd ain't feelin' well, and I just want it to be nice today. Can't you come back, like, the day after tomorrow?"

"What d'you mean, he ain't feelin' well? Is he sick?"

"I don't know. He might be." Ava shrugged.

"Well, can he talk?" Raylan started to lose his patience.

"Yes, but-"

"Then he can talk to me, as well. Ava, I ain't here to arrest him, unless he gives me definite reason to do so. I jus' wanna talk to him, I promise."

"Raylan-"

"Hey, Boyd!" Raylan shouted through the open door, into the house. "Boyd, you there?"

"Raylan, shut up!" Ava put her hands on his chest and tried to push him away from the door; naturally, she didn't stand a chance.

"If you could come here for jus' a second" Raylan continued to shout, "I jus' wanna ask you some questions, then I'll be on my way, no harm done!"

"Raylan, I swear, if you don't let-"

"Ava, it's quite alright" Boyd interrupted them. He was standing in the door, hands in his pockets, looking the way he always did, and he seemed amused at their little scene.

"You don't have to talk to him, you know" Ava said and crossed her arms.

"Ava, baby, it's okay." Boyd smiled his most indulgent and kind smile at her. "Let the man ask his questions, and like he said, no harm done."

Ava still didn't look convinced. "Alright." She looked from Boyd to Raylan and back. "I'll be in the kitchen."

She brushed by Boyd and stopped. "If you boys gonna be talkin' ouside, you should put a jacket on."

"Or Raylan could come inside for a sec, right, baby?"

Ava rolled her eyes. "Fine."

"Thanks, Ava" Raylan sarcastically called after her.

"What's gotten into her?"

Boyd smiled again, looking in the direction she went, then stepped to the side to let Raylan in. "She's just worried. It's heartwarming."

"Why is she worried, anyway? She said you ain't feelin' well."

"I encountered some annoyance with my stomach this mornin', I admit I was feelin' a little under the weather. But it's all passed now, I am fine."

Raylan eyed him carefully. "You do look tired."

Boyd sighed. "Sleep did not come easy to me last night."

"Yeah, well, you're not alone there."

"So. You said you had some questions you needed to ask me, which makes me take the educated guess that you ain't here just to have a friendly chat and catch up on my health status. What is it I can do for the US Marshal service today?"

"Okay, so, listen." Raylan leaned against the closed door. "I'm sure you've heard of the two car bombings last week."

"One in Cumberland, one in Alva, yes. Why you askin' me that?"

"I'll get to the point, I promise. The week before that, there was another one, the first one, in Big Stone Gap, Virginia, right next to the border. Noone made the connection cause it was in another state, but it's less than an hour from Harlan, and it's the same pattern. And last night, case you haven't heard, was another one, in Pineville this time."

"That's all quite fascinatin', but I do wonder when you'll get to the point."

"Oh, Boyd, I'm sure you already know what point I'm tryin' to get to here. These bombings were all in or around Harlan, and I just thought you might know something about it, in your almighty ways that you have. Whatever information you may have to share, I'll be happy to listen to. Though I do have the duty to inform you that everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"Well, try as I might, Raylan, I don't know everything-"

"How much did it pain you to say that just now?"

"-that's goin' on in these parts" Boyd continued, undeterred, "but I know someone who does."

Raylan raised a brow and set his slightly dried hat back on his head. "Do you now?"

"Yes." Boyd smiled, then turned to the stairs and called up. "Daniel! You wanna come down here for a minute, Deputy Givens wanna know somethin' that you might be able to help us with!"

"Daniel? Who the hell is Daniel?"

"You'll see" was all Boyd said. Half a beat later a slightly scruffy-looking young man appeared on the top of the stairs. He was skinny, like Boyd, but his jet-black hair was full, longer, framed his pale face in unkempt waves. He had a shy posture about him, but as Raylan looked into his eyes he saw an unsettling indifference in them, some kind of resigned detachment from the world born out of necessity. Something about the way he gazed at Raylan, like he had him all figured out, reminded Raylan too much of Boyd, and then he remembered that he'd seen him once before.

"Oh, right. You're the observer."

Daniel didn't say anything in response, just trotted down the stairs and stopped when he was standing on the bottom one, an expectant look on his face.

"Daniel, you remember Deputy Givens, from your first visit here, in Johnny's bar?"

Daniel lifted a shoulder in what Raylan could only interpret as a shrug. Boyd continued as if the boy had given him a full answer.

"The Deputy had an interesting question for me just now, and then I had to think of your unique capabilities and thought that you might be the one person who could help us find an end to Raylan's quest."

This time, there was no apparent reaction from the boy whatsoever, as far as Raylan could tell, but Boyd nodded like he could read thoughts all of a sudden, and Raylan felt like this was a stupid sitcom and he was being played.

"There were car bombings in this area and around, as I'm sure you've heard, and now my friend Raylan here wonders if I know anything about who might be the agitator behind these destructive occurrences, but since I'm not as capable in having my eyes and ears everywhere as you are, I got to thinkin' that you could know a few things that I do not, as it is, know about."

Daniel seemed to consider it for a few seconds, then he said, "People say some shady-lookin' fella's moved up into the place a' Mags Bennett's old store."

"Would those people know who that shady-lookin' fella is and what he calls himself?"

"Nah. He's new."

"And" Raylan asked, quite confused, "who exactly was it that saw this 'shady-lookin' fella' move around there?"

Daniel barely spared him a glance. "People."

"Okay. People. Sure." Exasperated, Raylan looked at Boyd, who lifted a placating hand.

"Why d'you think he could have somethin' to do with it?"

"Guy came here same day that car blew up in Big Stone Gap, couple hours later. Heard 'bout it in the news, made the connection."

"Well, that sounds good enough for me, what d'you think, Raylan?"

Raylan stared at Daniel. "Sure."

"Great. Thanks a lot, Daniel, you can go now if you want. I'll see you later, son."

Daniel trotted up the stairs the same way he descended them, and Boyd gazed at Raylan with an apologetic expression on his face. "Don't take it personal" he said, "I'm the only one he talks to, and sometimes Ava. He… he don' like people too much."

"I couldn't tell."

"So." Boyd clapped his hands. "Was there some information you consider useful, Raylan? I really would like to know."

"I'm not exactly sure if what 'people'" Raylan used air quotes here, "say about some guy trudging around up in Bennett County can count as valuable means of evidence, Boyd."

"Well, since it's all you got, and all you'll me getting' from me on that matter, I'd say, take it or leave it, though I should have an interest in getting' that someone who's blowin' up cars off the streets, if just for the consoling knowledge that he won't be destroyin' anyone's property no more."

"Or you want him gone so that people won't think it was you, blowin' up them cars, what with you havin' quite the history with explosives and cars and stuff."

Boyd didn't grin, but it was simmering in his eyes. "Why, yes, that plays into it, maybe a little."

"Okay." Raylan shrugged. "You wanna go check it out?"

"That one you're gonna have to explain to me."

"Well. It's just that, you're right, it's all the lead I got, and I wanna go check it out, but Art's always beratin' me for goin' in on these things without back-up, and until back-up can arrive here it'll be half the day passed and I don't wanna wait for somethin' that might not be anythin' at all."

"Do I understand that right, you deem me an adequate replacement for back-up?"

"Well, when you put it like that… let's just say I should not go there on my own and you're here, and it all just sorta came together. How's that sound?"

"Sounds fair."

Boyd was frowning. Raylan could understand why – it was not usual for him to ask Boyd to come along on something like this. But if this shady guy in Bennett County was actually the guy he was looking for, it was advisable not to be in it alone, and despite all the shit that had happened, when it came down to it, Boyd had never not had his back. He'd saved Raylan's life several times now, and in spite of all the mixed feelings Raylan had about this man, he trusted him enough to feel like he could do it at least one more time.

"Let's go, then" Raylan said.

"Quick" Boyd said and grabbed his jacket. "Before Ava hears 'bout it and berates me for goin' in on somethin' with you."

"Aw. She wouldn't do that, would she?"

"I just hope we don' have to find out."

* * *

That was chapter 2. Chapter 3, from Boyd's POV, will follow tomorrow morning. There will definitely be a fourth chapter, that I'll hopefully be able to post tomorrow as well. If I can fit everything in there, I will, but there might be a fifth chapter coming, maybe a sort of epilogue. We will see.

As always, anyone who feels like they should maybe review, I won't be inclined to tell 'em not to do so.

Oh, and, incidentally, I mashed up a Hot Fuzz quote in here. It's hidden in plain sight.


	3. Chapter 3

I have to apologize. When I said I wanted to post Chapter 3 this morning, I MEANT this morning, but my parents, the best parents in this world, btw, gave me a flatscreen TV for Christmas yesterday, and my father and I tried for one and a half hours to set it up just now, and then my sister's boyfriend came in, pushed one button, and it worked. MH. I laughed until my stomach hurt, and didn't have ANY time whatsoever until just now - haven't even had time to check my e-mails.

But, anyway. Here is Chapter 3 now, Boyd's POV, like promised. I do not know, though, if I manage to update Chap 4 tonight, or if I have to postpone that until tomorrow. Sorry.

And I wanna thank freshouttaideas (who I have the information about Kentucky's weather from in the first place - thanx again) and sophie1670 for the reviews.

The unfortunate encounter runs its course. Enjoy!

* * *

The Key to Every Door

* * *

Chapter 3

It was the 24th of December, and Boyd Crowder was not as excited about that as Ava would have liked him to be, mainly because he'd just woken up in a dark, confined closet space with no idea how he'd gotten there and no one for company but his old friend Raylan Givens who was, as it seemed, currently unconscious.

Boyd tried to sit up, and groaned. His head hurt something awful, and he could feel the nausea from this morning rising again that he'd thought to have gotten over already. Touching the back of his head where it hurt the most he could feel a lump forming. No blood, though, so either the hit he'd taken hadn't been that hard and they hadn't been unconscious for long, or it had just been an especially blunt object to be used on him.

Crowders have a hard head, his daddy used to say, they can take a lot. That seemed to justifiy beating the shit out of Boyd whenever he hadn't been able to live up to his daddy's expectations.

The gap in Boyd's memory was taunting him. It bothered Boyd, a little, that he couldn't remember, but he knew that staring into the abyss until it stared back would do him no good, and hence he started retracing his steps from this morning, in the hopes that it would lead him to where he was now. Also, it would distract him from the nausea and the pain.

He'd woken, Boyd could remember, feeling exhausted and a little beside himself, the way he always felt when he'd had a rough night. Sleep wouldn't come to him, no matter how hard he tried to relax. Dragging himself out of bed was more difficult than usual. He honestly had completely forgotten that it was Christmas Eve today, although Ava made sure to remind him of that fact. He thought about the present he had for her, hidden away under the front seat of his truck, and smiled, really hoping she'd like that book.

Boyd tried to shock himself awake by drinking a lot of coffee, and it seemed to work, right up to the point where he wanted to stand up and suddenly saw stars, his stomach lurching uncomfortably, the room seemed overheated all of a sudden, and he knew he was not gonna make it upstairs to the bathroom on time, so he stumbled outside and vomited onto Ava's front yard. He felt her coming up next to him, a tender hand on his back, and he felt really sorry he was ruining her Christmas for her. He felt Daniel's eyes on him, as well, and hoped the kid wasn't too worried.

Boyd was sweating like a pig and knew that was not normal in those wintery temperatures, but the rain was pure bliss on his skin, and he would have liked to sit on the steps to the porch for the next half hour. Naturally, Ava wouldn't let him, and in the end, he figured she was right.

He could feel Daniel observing him, always cowering just at the periphery of his vision, and he would have liked to reach out to him, tell the kid he was fine. But he decided to let Daniel mull it over with himself this time. He'd developed a genuine affection for the young man, from when he'd first seen him at Mr. K's, looking kind of lost and lonely, but also hyper-aware of anything that could come too close, like a stray dog.

The kid still only talked to Boyd, seemed to have latched onto him a little, and Boyd could understand. The kid had everything taken from him that mattered. And now he jumped at the chance of recovering some of what was lost: Company. Affection. Family. Home. And him and Boyd just appeared to be on the same wave length. They both loved reading, and Boyd had no difficulties connecting to Daniel through literature. Daniel talked to Ava in one-word-sentences, and eyed everyone else like he needed to attack them every second now. Johnny, for some reason, did not like him, but Boyd would not enforce that.

So Boyd did not say anything to Daniel, just dragged himself up the stairs, into the shower. He turned the water cold, first, until he was positively freezing, before turning on the hot water and getting himself clean, brushing his teeth for long minutes. When he exited the bathroom he felt a lot better, though still tired and a tad fuzzy, so he settled on the couch with one of his books and a glass of water since he did not want to tempt his fate with coffee today anymore and although Ava had told him to eat something, his stomach still felt a little too queasy.

Then what happened… right. Raylan had come to the door, and he listened to Ava try and send him on his way, and Raylan, that stubborn character, had not relented, of course not. When he'd started shouting into the house, Boyd decided to relieve Ava of what she felt as her duty.

Raylan had told him about the car bombings, which he'd already known about – having Daniel in the house really turned out to be useful. The kid heard everything from the grapevine, though how he did that without talking to anybody completely escaped Boyd, and he saw things and made connections that no one else was capable of, except for maybe Boyd himself. Raylan knew that Boyd had nothing to do with those bombings, Boyd was certain, he'd just come for information.

So when Raylan asked him to come along to check out Mags' old store, he was suitably nonplussed. He'd accepted anyway. For Raylan to actively ask him to come along on this was a leap of faith for the Marshal, he was sure, and Boyd knew Raylan felt like he was in Boyd's dept because of the times that Boyd had helped or even saved him. What Raylan didn't know, and never would have thought about, was that it was out of the question for Boyd not to help Raylan when he could. Course, most times there was something in it for Boyd himself, too. Getting out of the mine alive, confronting his daddy, killing Dickie Bennett – although that last one still nagged at him.

Boyd was gonna get that son of a bitch. Some day.

He was getting sidetracked. His head hurt more. Boyd tried to concentrate.

So they had driven through Bennett County, up the hill, to what was left of Mags Bennett's old grocery store. It was a complete mess. People must have broken in and had some fun with destroying the remains of the Bennett empire after Mags had let her people down, and then let her life.

"So" Raylan said. "And your observer guy said he saw someone shuffle round through here?"

"No, I think he said people did."

Raylan huffed. "That's kinda the problem here, Boyd. I really would have liked to know who those people are."

"Well, you don't know, and before you ask me, neither do I. That boy has resources which are out of my reach."

"Where did you find him, anyway? And why the hell was he upstairs – he livin' with you now?"

"I told you, I met him at a bookstore." Boyd grinned. "And he ain't got nowhere else to go, so we just decided to offer him a roof over his head until he finds a place of his own."

"That's so altruistic of you, Boyd." Raylan frowned as he gazed across the trashed room. "That don't sound like you at all."

"I will admit that it's useful having someone around who hears and sees things that escape you." Boyd turned his head when he heard something, he couldn't say for sure what it was, but it was a movement of some kind, that much he could say with certainty. "Like right now. Raylan, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"I don't know. There was something… I think someone's here."

"You sure?" Raylan looked in the direction Boyd was turned to.

"Yes."

"Okay then. Stay back."

Raylan drew his weapon and stepped in front of Boyd, moving slowly around a corner, trying real hard not to step on anything on the floor that would give him away.

"Hey" he whispered. "Boyd. Check that out."

He motioned for Boyd to look around the corner, and when Boyd did, he saw a wooden door, opened just a crack, that led to what could only be an old, emptied out pantry. There were fresh traces of shoes in the dust on the floor in front of it, and the door was swinging just the slightest bit in its hinges, like someone had opened it just a few minutes ago.

"What d'you think?" Raylan asked.

"I think that there was most definitely someone here, and that someone might still be here, too."

"You think he's in the closet?"

"Only one way to find that out."

"Right."

Raylan steeled himself, raised his gun and turned the corner, Boyd right behind, placing himself in front of the cracked door while Raylan stood in front of the right one of the double doors, the one that was still closed. They looked at each other, nodded, reached their hands to the door knobs, Raylan with his left hand since he had his service weapon high and ready to take out any offender. Boyd silently lifted his left hand and counted down from three.

At one they ripped the doors open, and saw that the pantry was, in fact – empty.

"Shit." Raylan lowered his weapon, looking disappointed. "There's nothing in it."

"Thank you, Raylan, for stating the obvious, but the traces left do mean that someone was or still is here, so let's not drop our-"

A thud, then pain, then Boyd hit the floor. Tasting dust in his mouth, he wondered what the hell had happened now.

"What-"

He could hear Raylan, but didn't stay conscious long enough to find out if Raylan dealt with whatever had just happened, or if he was gonna hit the ground next to him.

Boyd figured, trying to look through the dark and seeing nothing whatsoever, that Raylan had not dealt with it after all. He could feel the Marshal's leather boot press into his thigh.

The air was stuffy and it was already starting to get to him. Not knowing what else to do and worrying that Raylan had been hit harder than he himself had been, he grabbed Raylan's leather-clad ankle and started shaking it, saying, "Raylan, Raylan, wake up" repeatedly, until the Marshal showed signs of coming around.

Raylan let a drawn-out groan escape as he started moving around.

"Shit. What the hell… Boyd? You there?"

"Yes, Raylan, I am here."

"What the fuck? Please tell me it's just dark in here and that I'm not blind."

"To appease your worries, I am fairly certain that we ain't blind. I think it's just really dark in here."

"And…" Boyd heard Raylan shuffle this and that way, trying to sit up. "Where exactly would… shit… would 'here' be?"

"Since it's unlikely we have been transported anywhere else, I'd say 'here' is the pantry in Mags Bennett's old store that we had been checking out on account of Daniel tellin' us about some shady-lookin' fella who might have had somethin' to do with the car bombings in and around Harlan. You don't remember?"

"If I hadn't, I certainly would now. Thanks for the recap of the road so far."

Raylan sounded annoyed and Boyd smiled into the dark. Always so easy to rile up, that man had not changed one bit.

"So, I guess there was someone here after all, huh?"

"It would seem so, yeah."

"Shit. My head's fuckin' killin' me."

"You bleedin'?"

Raylan felt around. "No. But that must be some goose egg I got there."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"How the hell did that asshole get the drop on us? I thought you were my back-up!"

"Well, it's all still a bit foggy, but if I remember correctly that asshole you were referring to hit me first, so I am to wonder why you are in here with me, 'stead of hauling the guy off to jail."

"Well…" That sufficiently took the wind out of Raylan's sails for a while.

"I don't know. Damnit. I need eyes in the back of my head."

"Don't we all."

They were silent for a while.

"How small is this thing we're sittin' in? I didn't get a good look at it."

"I'd say it's about the size of a pantry."

"That you tryin' to be funny again, Boyd?"

"Nah… I don' know, it's really small. I think if we sit facing each other we can stretch out our legs at least."

"Sounds good."

Boyd braced his back against the side wall and guessed that Raylan was doing the same thing on the other side of the closet, because a moment later he felt Raylan's long legs press against him, the tips of his cowboy boots just touching the wall next to him.

"Oh yeah, that is SO much more comfortable."

"Is that you bein' sarcastic, Raylan?"

"Nah, I'm serious. Right now I'm grateful for small mercies."

"Small mercies are all we can expect right now, I'd say."

Raylan was quiet for a while, until he suddenly said "Oh!" and Boyd could hear and feel him shuffling around again.

"What the hell you doin' there, Raylan?"

"My fuckin' cell phone! How did I not think of that?"

Boyd closed his eyes and shook his head at himself. Why hadn't HE thought of that? He started padding his pockets, finding out very quickly that his cell phone, which he knew was always in his left pant pocket, was not on him.

"Seems like he took my cell phone, Raylan, sorry."

"Yeah… well… if you can wait for a… shit!" Raylan sagged and stilled. "Mine's gone, too. As is my service weapon, and my back-up weapon."

"No need to ask me for a rocket launcher. I haven't used one a' these in ages."

"Okay then. I'd say we're knee-deep in shit."

"I'd say you're right."

They were silent again, for how long, Boyd couldn't tell.

"Boyd?" Raylan finally said. He sounded unsure.

"Yes, Raylan?"

"How the hell are we gon' get outta here?"

"You tried the door?"

"You ain't half as funny as you think you are."

"I'm serious, though; the pantry is old as any shit in this place, maybe we can kick them open?"

"Well, they feel pretty massive to me."

Boyd sighed. "Since we're quickly runnin' out of options, I'mma give it a try."

"You do that. I'll just sit here, wallow in self-pity for a while."

"Not my place to stop you."

Boyd turned until his back hit the back wall of the closet. Sitting facing the doors, his legs were folded up against him, knees almost touching his nose, the toes of his boots pressing against the – quite massive – pantry door.

"Okay, on three."

"You go ahead."

Raylan sounded weird, and Boyd got worried. "Raylan, you alright? You sound a bit off."

Raylan groaned. "I'm fine, just… it's fuckin' stuffy in here, and I reckon it won't get better the longer we're in here."

"I know. I ain't exactly comfortable, either." Boyd sighed. "Okay, on three."

"I ain't gonna join you, Boyd, no matter how many times you say that. These doors are massive. You really think Mags Bennett stored her things in a pantry that could be broken into with a few well-placed kicks?"

"I don't. Just need something to do right now."

"You go ahead, then."

"Okay. On three."

"It won't get better, the more you say it, though."

"Shut up."

Boyd braced himself against the back wall and lifted his feet as far as they would go, which was not very far in this goddamned confined space, and took as deep a breath as was possible, which, coincidently, was not very deep, before he kicked against the door with all his might. Once, twice, three times, and the door did not even move one bit. He hit his head on the back wall, precisely in the place where the lump from the hit was, and he stopped, hissed, closed his eyes against the flaring pain.

"Fuck!"

"You alright there, Boyd?"

"Gnnnngh. Yeah, Won't try that again. Goddamnit, ow."

Kindly enough, Raylan refrained from saying "I told you so", although Boyd would have bet his life on it that Raylan was thinking it at this very moment.

"Yeah. Well. That didn't work."

"Which leaves us with… nothin'."

"Yeah. Shit. Goddamn, why did that son of a bitch have to take our cell phones?"

"You know as well as I do that the reception up here is about as good n' useful as a trap door on a canoe, Raylan."

"Yeah, I know, but Art could have tracked my phone… he's done that before, I'm tellin' you."

"He ain't gonna track your phone now, anyway, if he thinks you're just in Harlan to have a chat with me, is he?"

"No… but he might if I don't come back."

"Great. So even if you had your phone on you, which you don't, by the way, that would leave us with how much time in here?"

"I get your point, Boyd, it sucks."

Raylan sighed.

"What about Ava?"

"What about her?"

"Ain't she gon' be wonderin' where the hell you are?"

"She's already wonderin' right now, I'd think, since I didn' tell her where the hell I was goin'."

"Right. Shit. Remind me why you didn't do that?"

"Cause she was worried and would have had my head if I tried to tell her I'm leavin' on some adventurous trip with you."

"Who would've thought it could turn out this adventurous, though? …Right, she said you ain't feelin' well."

"I certainly ain't feelin' well right fuckin' now."

"Me neither."

They fell silent again, and this time they didn't break it for a long time. Boyd moved his back to the side wall again and stretched out his legs; they were starting to fall asleep. His back was killing him, as was his head, and now that he didn't have anything to distract himself with, he could feel the nausea rising again. He started breaking a sweat, too, just like this morning, and he was sure if he had been able to see anything right now, his world would have been spinning.

Boyd carefully leaned his head against the wall and tried not think about anything. They were in a shitty situation. Daniel, the only person who might have an idea where they were right now, would be spending the whole day in his room, as he always did, maybe he'd fallen asleep and didn't even know Boyd had left the house. Ava had no idea about anything, and all Raylan's Marshal colleagues knew was that Raylan had gone to talk to Boyd. Eventually everyone would figure out they were missing, and they would find them, Boyd knew it wasn't rocket science. It was how long it would take that he was worried about.

At some point Boyd couldn't take the heat anymore and tried taking off his jacket; not an easy task in such a confined space, and complete darkness. Count to that his back was now as stiff as a board and his head throbbed with every tiniest move he made, and it almost seemed impossible to manage.

Boyd struggled, and let out a stream of curses.

"Boyd?"

"Jus' tryin' to take off my jacket. The heat's killin' me."

"Yeah, me, too. Hot as all hell in here."

"Goddman it" Boyd groaned as he finally freed himself of the jacket sleeves.

"You in pain?"

"My back's hurtin' like a motherfucker… I think I got a cramp or somethin'… shit."

"What now?"

Boyd swallowed reflexively. "I'm terribly sorry, Raylan. I think I might vomit."

It sounded like Raylan was thumping his head against the wooden boards of the wall behind him. "Great. Just peachy. That's just… can't you just… hold it in, for a while longer?"

"Raylan, I've been tryin' to keep it at bay for a long while now…"

"Yeah, well, try harder. We're gonna be in here for God knows how long before they find us. I know we're both sweatin' rivers. If you throw up now, you'll get dehydrated even faster."

"That's… awfully aware of you, Raylan. Never thought you'd – GAH!"

Boyd leaned forward, pressing his eyes shut. If he hadn't had a cramp in his back before, he sure as hell did now, and GOD, did it hurt.

"Hey, what's goin' on now? Boyd? Hey, Boyd, come on, talk to me!"

"Shit, Raylan, my back… oh fuck, I feel like a hundred fuckin' years old. Jesus Christ!"

"Hey…" Raylan sounded like he had an idea, and right now Boyd was open to any suggestion.

"What if I, I don't know, sat myself cross-legged or somethin', then you could maybe use my leg as a pillow and try an' lie down for a bit? You think that might help?"

"I'm willin' to give it a try" Boyd pressed out between clenched teeth. It was quite an act for him to turn around and lower himself onto the dusty floor. He could feel dirt and grime stick to his sweaty palms.

"Wait, slide a few more inches back… yeah, like that."

Boyd felt clammy denim beneath his neck, tried to arrange it so that the lump on the back of his head was not directly pressing into Raylan's leg, and then was actually able to relax just a bit. His legs were still bent at the knees, but the change in position offered him immediate relief, and he let out a sigh.

"It do any good?"

"Yes, Raylan, thank you very much."

Boyd wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Sorry I dragged you along on this, Boyd."

Raylan sounded as exhausted as Boyd felt. "Don' worry 'bout it, Raylan. Coulda said no, but I didn't."

"Mmmh." Raylan sounded like he was smiling half-heartedly.

"You know I ain't gonna be able to stay in this position forever. My knees aren't what they used to be."

"Just tell me when you can't stand it anymore and I'll gladly return the favour."

"Deal."

Raylan let out a long sigh, and Boyd thought that, of all the Christmas Eves he had ever experienced, this was, by far, the worst one.

* * *

What I forgot to mention at the end of chapter 2, the band I described there actually exists: It's a German band called The BossHoss. Country rock with a good portion of punk, a small amount of grunge, and just a hint of folk rock. Absolutely amazing mix, so if you got any chance of checking them out, do it! I'm telling you, when you listen to the drifter version of their song "My Way" and then close your eyes - you'll see Raylan. If Raylan were born as a song, he would be this one. Promise. That I find the lead singers sexy because they wear jeans and cowboy boots and Stetsons on stage does not have anything to do with it. Well... maybe a little.

As always, anyone who thinks they just HAVE to review, in Boyd's words, "Not my place to stop you."


	4. Chapter 4

It's done! That became one hell of a long chapter, but I managed to fit everything in it, and now the story is over. Obviously, there are still some questions to be answered at the end of it, but that was all on purpose. Got another idea at the ready. Justified just inspires me like nothing has in quite some time.

While we're at it, I actually got Season 1 on DVD, and as it turns out, my mom loves the show, too. Justified fever is contagious, whohooo!

Now, I don't want to bore you with my ramblings anymore. I just hope you liked reading this story as much as I liked writing it. Merry Christmas again.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Key to Every Door

* * *

Chapter 4

It was the 24th of December, and Art Mullen was not excited, he was anxious, mainly because his Deputy Givens, who he'd sent down to Harlan to talk to his sometimes-old-friend-sometimes-arch-nemesis-sometimes-both Boyd Crowder had not returned by now, and he wasn't answering his cell phone either.

Art looked at his watch. It was 4:16 pm. Raylan had left the office before nine this morning, and since he always drove too fast, it never took him longer than three hours to get to Harlan, three and a half tops, same for the way back. So if he'd only asked Crowder a couple questions like he was supposed to, he should have been back by now. Unless, of course, he'd run into trouble.

And the way Art knew Raylan, that most likely was exactly what had happened.

Sighing angrily, Art grabbed his jacket and got out of his office, looking around.

"Tim?"

"Boss."

"You, uh, heard anything from Raylan yet?"

"Nah. I thought he was down in Harlan askin' shit?"

"Yeah, he was. Is, still, I think. But he should have returned by now, don't you think?"

"He might be stuck in traffic."

"He would have called."

"He might have run into something that needed dealing with."

"He would have called."

"Did you try calling him?"

"Didn't pick up, went straight to voicemail."

"The reception up in the hills is a disaster, you know that."

"Yeah. I know."

Art chewed on his bottom lip.

"You think something's up, Art?"

"I do, actually."

"Well, I can't say I blame you… that's Raylan, right?"

"Yeah… yeah, he is. You know what, pack up your stuff. We're goin' to Harlan."

Tim sighed and got out of his chair. "Yessir. I didn't have anywhere to go tonight anyway."

"Right" Art groaned. "It's Christmas Eve. The Wife's gonna have my head… shit, Raylan, the situations you get me into!"

If they drove down to Harlan now, and they probably had to look for Raylan, and possibly clean up his mess after him, as they always did, it would be a long evening. Add to that the long drive back, and he wouldn't be home before midnight.

Well, Art thought to himself. It wouldn't be the worst Christmas Eve he'd ever had. A dead or fatally injured Raylan would be, though. And so they got on the road only a few minutes later, with back-up, and Art called ahead, to ensure there would be an ambulance and a ton of paramedics at the ready if need be.

The first place they went to was Johnny Crowder's bar, which was closed. Art knocked on the door, in case someone was in the back room and didn't hear them, but there was no reaction. The next obvious stop would be Ava Crowder's house, so they drove there next.

When Art knocked on the door, Tim right behind him, they could hear someone running, and the door was practically ripped out of its hinges. Ava Crowder had a hopeful look on her face that instantly deflated as she recognized who was standing at her door.

"Oh" she said, disappointed. "Hello, Chief. Merry… merry Christmas."

"And merry Christmas to you, too, Miss Crowder. Why you looking so disappointed to see us?"

"Well, I… I kinda hoped it was Boyd."

Now Art just knew something was up. "Why, is he not here?"

"Nah. Him and Raylan, they left 'round noon, and they ain't back yet, and honestly, I'm startin' to get a little worried."

Ava looked seriously upset, and Art felt it creep up on him, that old familiar feeling of dread.

"So they didn't tell you where they were going, then."

"They didn't tell me nothin'. Didn't even tell me they were goin' somewhere at all, just took off." Ava shook her head. "God, Boyd, you idiot!"

"Why didn't they tell you?"

"Cause I didn't want Boyd to go anywhere today. Obviously, it's Christmas Eve, and he had to puke this mornin' so he ain't exactly at the top of his game, and just…"

Ava sighed. Art nodded, always the consoling envoy of bad news.

"But Raylan was here, today."

"Yeah, round noon. Said he wanted to talk to Boyd, ask him a couple questions."

"That doesn't sound too bad" Tim intercepted.

"So Boyd said, alright, an' let Raylan in, and they stayed here, at the door, and I went into the kitchen, I had some cookin' to do that's getting' cold now, cause Boyd ain't here to eat it. I didn't hear what they were talkin' about, if that's what you're hopin' for. As I said, I didn't even hear them leave."

"Shit." Art's shoulders sagged. "Can you think of anyone who might know where they went?"

"Well, I could always ask Danny if he heard somethin'. Kid hears funkin' everything, it's almost scary."

"If you could do that, Miss Crowder. That would be great."

Ava nodded. "Alright. Just a second."

She left the door open as she ascended the stairs to go knock on some door. Art turned around and Tim mouthed a questioning "Danny? Who the fuck is Danny?" at him, and Art could only shrug and think the exact same thing.

They heard muffled voices exchange a few words, and then Ava came down the stairs again, a young man dressed completely in black and looking like he sometimes slept under a bridge just for the hell of it in tow.

"That's Danny. Danny, that's Chief Mullen, Raylan's boss, I think you've already met Raylan. That there is another Marshal, Deputy…" She looked lost for a moment.

"Deputy Gutterson." Tim touched the tip of his cap in an uncannily Raylan-like way, and Art shuddered, thinking they all spent way too much time with each other.

"Gutterson, right." Ava smiled an apologetic smile at Tim. "They're here because Raylan's been gone since noon and hasn't been heard of nor seen since then, and Boyd, too. I know they talked and left, most likely with each other, but hell if I know where they went."

The guy named Danny looked at them with a perfect "What the hell do I care?"- expression and didn't say a word. Ava sighed and put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, honey you can talk to these people, they're just tryin' to help Boyd."

At that, he looked at her, a question in his eyes. "You jus' said Raylan" he mumbled.

"I know what I said. They'll help both of 'em, ain't that right, Chief?"

She looked at Art, clearly hoping for some help on this matter.

"Yeah! Yeah, we're, uhm" he cleared his throat, trying hard not to show his utter confusion, "we're looking for Deputy Givens, see, and this is the last place him or Cr– Boyd have been seen, so it's likely they're together in some shit that we're just trying to get them out of. Both of them" he emphasized.

Danny looked like he was positively brooding over what to tell them. It seemed that kid wanted to help Crowder, for what reason, Art had no idea. Obviously he was living here, with the Crowders. That alone made him suspicious to Marshal eyes.

"The Marshal was here, asked Boyd 'bout them bombings in Harlan an' surroundings, an' Boyd said he didn' know shit, but I'd heard 'bout people talkin' 'bout some shady-lookin' fella movin' in on Mags Bennett's old store, so I told 'em."

Art still tried to filter through those mumblings when Tim said, "Mags Bennett's old store? That's where they went?"

"S'all I got."

"Then it's all we got, either." Art turned from the door, calling out to his people. "Everybody, we're driving into Bennett County, up the hill to where Mags Bennett had a grocery store before she died. Those who don't know the way, just follow Tim, he's been there before. Move!"

"Chief" Ava said, and Art looked at her. "If you find him, let me know if he's alright, will you?"

"Yes, Ma'am" Art said. She smiled thinly, clearly worried sick, while he left the porch and walked up to his car. It was a thin lead, but it was all they had, so he had no chance but to follow through on it with everything he had.

The drive into Bennett County took entirely too long for Art. It was like those nightmares he sometimes had, where he was running and running and just not moving forward one inch. He just hoped they weren't too late, that Art was seeing ghosts and the whole deal was not as serious as he was picturing it all in his mind. Maybe they'd just been locked up somewhere. Or maybe they'd been taken. Maybe they'd burst into the store, and all they'd find was a dead Raylan and Crowder was gone, or the other way around…

The Chief couldn't stop those thoughts. His fingers were gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Contemplating a Christmas Eve with a hurt or dead Raylan wasn't much fun, and when they finally stopped in front of what was once a grocery store with the Bennett family name on it, he could not get out of his car fast enough.

Tim was beside him, weapon drawn, the Ranger training taking over – his face did not give away an ounce of what he had to be feeling in that moment. They'd all become friends in the office. The possibility of losing someone was never a pleasant thing to think about, but it was still always a possibility. Even more so since they had Raylan Givens on their team.

They pooled around the open door that had been ripped out of its holdings some time ago. It was dark in there, not much to see. Flashlights were pulled out of pockets. The electricity had long since been turned off on that place.

Tim looked at him. The other Marshals were collecting behind them. Art took a deep breath and nodded at Tim who himself breathed as calmly as you please and then stepped through the door, weapon at the ready, shouting, "US Marshal Service! Drop your weapon!"

Art followed behind him, weapon drawn, searching for signs of movement, of life, or possibly danger, with his flashlight. He heard the other Marshals call "Clear!", one after the other, and his heart sank. So the lead had been false. That Danny kid had either lied to them, or Raylan and Boyd had never come here. Or they had, and left. Maybe not on their own volition. Art's mind was running havoc, imagining the worst possible outcomes all over again, dread spreading like wildfire.

"Shit!" he shouted.

"Yo, Art!" he heard Tim. He couldn't see him, so he stalked through the trash and waste that was covering the floor and rounded a corner. He found Tim, pointing his flashlight at a double-door pantry, and another Marshal who was crouching in front of something he was illuminating on the floor. Art crouched next to him, despite the hell it gave his knees.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's cell phones, Sir" the young Marshal answered. "And guns. This looks like the Marshals' service weapon."

"Shit" Art said. "That's Raylan's phone."

He picked up the dusty phone. It was turned off. "Huh."

The other phone on the floor was an older model, though not turned off. It might have been Crowder's, for all Art knew. He illuminated the floor in front of the pantry. Traces in the dust that looked like something had been dragged to or from the closet. He looked at Tim.

"The closet" he said. "Get that goddamned closet open."

Tim nodded and took off. Art looked at the pantry doors: Massive wood, who knew how thick. You couldn't hear through it, most likely, but he was willing to give it a try.

"Raylan!" He shouted the familiar name and thumped his fist so hard on the wood that his entire hand hurt.

Nothing. No reaction.

And then…

"Art?" Heavily muffled, a voice managed to urge through the thick wood.

"That you, Raylan?"

"Yeah, Art, it's me! Boyd's in here with me, he ain't doin' so well!"

"Don't you worry 'bout it, we're gonna get you outta there!"

The immense relief Art felt almost knocked him off his feet; he'd found Raylan, Raylan must have been okay, he'd said that Crowder wasn't well, but hadn't said anything about himself… Art's thoughts briefly turned to Crowder. Ava had said that he'd puked this morning. He might have been sick. Being locked up in a closet for who knows how long couldn't have helped any with that.

Tim returned with two crowbars, a tool box and another Marshal, who was even taller than Raylan and looked like he could have wrenched the door open by himself just like that.

"Raylan's in there" Art said. "Crowder, too."

"I thought so. Already called up the ambulance, they'll be here in five minutes."

"Okay then." Art clapped his hands and turned to the door. "How are we gonna get that sonofabitch open?"

The tall Marshal looked at the locks. Iron bars, bolted to the doors, with iron nooses that were locked together by a very heavy padlock, one in the middle, one at the top of the closet, one at the bottom.

"Looks like fuckin' Fort Knox" the Marshal said.

"Yeah, well, get it open, I don't care how!"

"We could always loosen the screws, get them iron bars out of the door. I got a couple drill bits in there that'll work just fine."

"That's good, do that." Art thumped on the door again. "Raylan, you still there?"

"Where else am I gonna go, Art?"

"We're gonna start workin' on the locks now, Raylan, you'll be outta there soon!"

"Good to know."

Tim and the tall Marshal started working on the door. Every iron bar had been attached to the wood with three screws, which meant eighteen screws in total that all needed to be unscrewed individually. The waiting drove Art near crazy.

"Paramedics are outside, Chief" he was informed.

"Good."

Apparently after they'd unscrewed the bottom and middle iron bars, the tall Marshal seemed to be at the end of his line as well, because he just grabbed one of the crowbars, wrestled it between the already slightly loosened doors, and, with a few powerful pushes, wrenched the remaining iron bar out of the door. Wood splinters rained down on him as he opened the now broken double doors, and him, Art and Tim pointed their flashlights into the closet at the same time.

And there they were: Raylan, and Boyd Crowder. Both were drenched in sweat and dirty as they get. Raylan was lifting his hand in front of his eyes to shield himself from the lights that head to be unbearably bright after hours in complete darkness. Crowder had his eyes closed, his head leaned against the wall, a pained expression on his face.

"Art?" Raylan's voice sounded rough, but infinitely relieved.

"Yeah. It's me, asshole." Art couldn't keep the grin from his face as he reached out a hand to Raylan, who took it and used it to pull himself to his feet, stopping halfway and groaning in pain.

"Jesus" Raylan huffed.

"You alright there, Raylan?"

"Honestly, I feel a little uncomfortable… My back is fuckin' killin' me. My head, too."

With effort Raylan managed to raise himself to his full height. Even in the simmering half-darkness created by the dozens of flashlights, he looked utterly exhausted.

"Anything else? What the hell happened?"

"We were, uh, ambushed, I took a hit to the head, but it's nothing, really… Boyd, you okay there?"

Art changed his gaze to Crowder who had not moved one bit since they got the doors open, and he actually felt a pang of worry for the other man.

"I'mma… I'mma need a minute, Raylan." Crowder sounded weak, and like he was forcing something back.

"Tim" Art said, "would you get a paramedic inside for Mr. Crowder, please?"

Tim headed outside. Raylan stretched and breathed deeply. "Oooh God, that feels so nice. Air." He sighed. "You know, Boyd, you can vomit now, it's okay."

Boyd made a strangled sound that could have been a laugh. "How kind… of you, Ra-Raylan."

A paramedic came inside, with a kind of small flood light with handles. He set it on the floor next to Crowder, and suddenly half the room was illuminated enough for the Marshals to be able to turn off their flashlights.

"Mr. Crowder, how are you?" the paramedic asked while he slipped on gloves.

"Mighty fine." Even now Crowder still managed to sound condescending.

"Can you tell me what happened, please?"

"We, uh, came here, lookin' for someone, then I was hit… on the back of the h-head…" Crowder pushed a hand to his forehead and groaned.

"Then we sat in there for what felt like a fuckin' eternity" Raylan ended the story.

"How long were you in there?"

"Gee, I don't know, Art, I didn't exactly time it, you know. The dick took my cell phone."

"I know, it's right there." Art pointed at the spot on the floor.

"Oh." Raylan furrowed his brow. "An' my guns, too. An' Boyd's phone. I thought that bastard had stolen them."

"So you took a hit to the head?" the paramedic asked Crowder.

"Yeah."

The paramedic carefully palpated the back of Boyd's head. When he touched what had to be a lump of respectable size Crowder flinched and hissed, jerking his head away.

"Okay, that seems to be quite the swelling. You experienced any pain?"

"What does it look like, asshole?" Now Crowder seemed to shed his calm demeanor in favor of getting pissed, and Art couldn't fault him on it – that had been a pretty dumb question.

"Any dizziness?"

"Yes."

"Nausea?"

"Yes."

"Vomiting?"

"No, thankfully" Raylan intercepted. "But it was a close call."

The paramedic flashed a pen light into Boyd's eyes. "What is your name?"

Boyd sighed, enduring. "Boyd Crowder."

"What day is today?"

"It's the 24th of December."

"Day of the week?"

"It's Monday, the president is Obama, two and two is four. I ain't concussed, goddamnit."

"Okay." The paramedic, his nametag identified him as Steve, turned off the penlight and stowed it away in his bag to grab Crowder's wrist, likely to feel his pulse.

"When did you last eat or drink something? Either one of you" he said, looking at Raylan.

"Well, I had coffee and a bagel before I left Lexington, which was… holy crap, more than ten hours ago!" Raylan made big eyes at his just turned on phone.

"You, Mr. Crowder?"

Crowder seemed to dwell on that question. "Not sure… yesterday… round noon, or something?"

"That explains it, Mr. Crowder, I think you're severely hypoglycemic and exhausted, you should come outside so we can start you on an IV-"

Crowder didn't listen to what Steve had to say about all the fancy things that needed to happen. He grimaced, then turned to the side and threw up directly in front of Art's shoes.

"Jesus!" Art jumped back. "Alright, I'll take that as my cue to leave. Come on, Raylan, I'll have a paramedic check you outside."

"Okay." Raylan sighed. "See ya, Boyd."

Boyd spat on the floor.

Outside, Raylan sat himself on the edge of the opened trunk of Tim's truck and had a paramedic tend to him; his blood pressure, it seemed, was quite alright, if not a little low, but a quick test showed that he also was hypoglycemic, and dehydrated as well. The paramedic pushed a tall bottle of water and a bagel in his hands and told him to finish it, "all of it" and that he would be okay if he followed these orders and rested for the next two days.

Art had been quite worried, he wouldn't lie, he still was. But Raylan shoved the bagel into his mouth in record time and immediately asked for another one, and Art started to lose some of his worries.

"So" he said and lowered himself next to Raylan, who was just finishing the water bottle. "Would you mind tellin' me now what the hell happened?"

And Raylan told him, and to his credit, he got a little sheepish when he got to the part where he asked Crowder to come along. "I just thought it would be better not to head into it by myself." Raylan shrugged. "You always tell me not to do that."

"I'm not even gonna deem that worthy of an answer. There were millions of possible things for you to do that would have had an entirely different outcome than you being locked up in a goddamned closet with Crowder for six and a half hours on Christmas Eve."

"Yeah, well." Raylan shrugged. "We all make mistakes, huh?" He sounded like he himself knew what bullshit that was.

"That's true, Raylan, just, some of us, we learn from our mistakes. You think you might wanna, I don't know, start learning? Mmh?"

"Yeah. Maybe." Raylan played with Crowder's phone, that he'd taken outside alongside his own. "I know I rushed into it and it was stupid. Hell, all of that trouble for nothin'. The guy's long gone and we don't even know who he was, let alone if he was the guy I was lookin' for in the first place."

"That's right." Art looked to the sky. It had stopped raining, and the sky was clearing. "And all of that on Christmas Eve."

Raylan flipped open Boyd's phone. "Jesus! Thirty-two missed calls."

"From who?"

"Let's see… Ava, Ava, Ava, Ava, Johnny, Ava, Ava, Ava, Ava, Ava, Ava, Ava, Ava, Johnny, Ava, Daniel, Ava, Ava…" He looked up. "Maybe I should give Ava a call."

"You go on and do that. She was worried sick when we came to her door asking where the hell you are."

Raylan nodded and walked a couple of steps to talk more privately, and Art turned his gaze on the front of the former store, where Steve the Paramedic was carefully inserting an IV in the crook of a very pale-faced Boyd Crowder's arm in the back of an ambulance. Art sauntered over to them.

"How you doin', Mr. Crowder?"

"I have been better, Chief" Crowder said, still sounding like he'd been run over by a truck. Steve passed him an oxygen mask and Crowder closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing for a while.

"Talked to Miss Crowder, to ask where you and Raylan were, and she was worried sick about you. Said you'd been ill this morning and weren't up to your game."

Boyd's mouth crooked into a half smile. "Always worried, she is. You, uh, mind givin' her a call, to let her know where I am an' that I need someone to pick me up?"

Steve had to have listened in, because he intercepted here. "No, Sir, you have to go to the hospital. You almost fainted on the way to the ambulance-"

"Fainted?"

"I tripped." Crowder's expression was positively murderous.

"-and if you were really already sick this morning we have to do tests, you could have something serious-"

"Bullshit" Crowder interrupted, and Art saw Steve's mouth snap shut at his tone. He'd felt it, too, that sudden desire to take a step or two back. In a situation like this it was easy to forget that Boyd Crowder was a dangerous man, but he'd do quick to remind you of it. Crowder had lowered the oxygen mask, and although he was still pale and exhausted and looked like he might actually keel over any second, he was able to fix Steve the Paramedic with a glare that would have made Raylan himself think twice about gainsaying him.

"I feel like shit cause I haven't eaten in a day an' a half, which was stupid, I admit to it, an' spent all day locked up in a stuffy closet. All I need is a good night's sleep an' some of Ava's fine food in me. No hospital, no tests, no nothin'. We clear here?"

Steve nodded, looking upset. Art sighed. "You sure about that, Mr. Crowder? No offense, but you look like shit."

"Feel like shit, too, Chief, an' no offense taken, but I am indeed sure about that. Hospitals don' do me no good when I ain't shot."

"Well, if anyone should know that, it would be you. Raylan's on the phone to Ava right now, by the way."

"Thank you."

"No problem. Talk to you later, Mr. Crowder."

"Chief."

Art strolled back to where Raylan was now leaned against the side of Tim's truck, trying hard to placate a seemingly very upset Ava.

"Yeah, he's not feelin' so great at the moment… no, although he might've, if we'd been freed any later, no, he just vomited on my boss's shoes… no, of course that ain't funny. Sorry. Yeah. … Nah, don't, the boy didn't have nothin' to… okay, but… yeah, I know, but… Ava… Ava…"

He caught Art observing him and rolled his eyes skyward. Art chuckled.

"Ava! Would you calm down, alright? Boyd ain't… no, I guess it's not, but… yeah, Mag's old store. If you want, I'll… Okay, see-"

He stopped and stared at his phone. "She hung up on me."

"Well, seems like she really, actually cares about Boyd Crowder."

"She does."

Raylan sighed heavily and wiped a hand through his face. He'd provisorily gotten off some of the dirt and grime, but the man clearly needed a shower. Also, he looked dead on his feet.

"Hey, Raylan."

"Yeah?"

"You, uh, got any plans for tonight?"

"Well, I had, but… getting locked up in a pantry and begging Boyd not to vomit on me kinda put a spoke in my wheels."

"Now can you imagine, it put one hell of a spoke in my wheels, too. You're gonna have to explain that whole thing to my wife."

"Shit, Art. My day's been hard enough, don't you think?"

"What I wanted to say, I guess, was that now that my plans for Christmas Eve have been fucked with, and yours, too, and since Tim doesn't have anything planned, or so he said, I figured maybe the three of us could have a drink somewhere before you take a shower and fall asleep for the next twelve hours."

Raylan didn't say anything for the next minute or so, and Art was sure he'd refuse, saying he just wanted to drown himself and forget this day ever happened, but he was surprised.

"You know what, Art, I think I'll take you up on that offer. Sounds real nice. Tim up for it?"

"He will be once I ask him."

"Cool, Art. Thank you."

About half an hour later a beat-up turquoise Sedan pulled up and before it had even fully halted Ava Crowder burst out of the passenger side door.

"Raylan? Where is he?"

Raylan pointed to the ambulance next to the opening of the store. "Right over there, in the ambulance."

Ava rushed by them. The kid that had given them the directions, Danny Art thought his name was, got out of the car at a more leisured pace and took his time to lock the doors like he was afraid one of the countless Marshals running around was going to steal the ugly-as-fuck vehicle. Sticking his hands into his coat pockets like Art had seen Crowder do countless times, he walked past them slowly, a black wool hat pulled down nearly to his eyes, his black 5 o'clock shadow and black hair covering his face so that all Art could see clearly of him was his nose.

Him and Raylan saw Ava throw her arms around Boyd, who didn't have the strength to hold them both upright and had to hold himself steady on the door of the ambulance. Ava removed the oxygen mask and they kissed, though Boyd pulled back quickly and said something that made Ava laugh. Danny stood nearby and looked like he didn't really want to be around this many people, but when Boyd waved him over he came, and Boyd put a hand on his arm and said something, Art would have liked to know what that had been, because it made Danny's posture ease immediately, like a weight had been taken off of his shoulders.

Steve the Paramedic, who now looked like he was afraid of Crowder, was waved over and reluctantly removed the IV, and Crowder stood up, with help from Danny, and grabbed his dirty jacket that had been discarded on the floor of the ambulance, and the three of them made their way over to where Art and Raylan stood. They looked… Art smiled. The three of them almost looked like a family. A crazy, criminal family, but a family nonetheless.

When they reached Tim's car, Boyd detached himself from his company and shook Art's hand. "Chief, in the name of Raylan and I, I would like to thank you for comin' to our rescue."

"Like I didn't already thank him for that" Raylan said. Boyd only grinned at him, his many teeth a light in the dark. He still looked shaky, and like walking hurt. Art had heard Steve the Paramedic ask him about possible muscle spasms and Crowder had reluctantly admitted that his back had cramped and that it had been quite painful. But now that Ava Crowder was here, he already seemed much better, as if her bare presence helped him heal.

"It's still nice to hear, Raylan, so thank you Mr. Crowder, it was my pleasure. You have a nice Christmas Eve, or what's left of it, anyway."

"Oh, we gon' have a fine evenin' alright. Raylan, you wanna join us? We got 'Groundhog Day' on DVD and days worth of Ava's divine cookin'."

"Naaah, thanx. Art already invited me to a drink. 'Sides, 'Groundhog Day' ain't even a real Christmas movie."

"Well, we can't watch 'Die Hard' every year, Raylan."

Raylan huffed and made a face like he'd been caught. "You don't know everything, you know" he said.

Boyd nodded thoughtfully. "Obviously I don't. Still, I been told you have my phone. I wonder if I can have it back now."

Raylan passed it to him. "There you go."

"Thanks a lot, Raylan." Boyd flashed his teeth again before him and his company went over to the old Sedan.

"Merry Christmas" Boyd said before he got into the back seat. Art lifted a hand and waved good bye.

"Well, that was nice" he said.

"What was?"

"You and Crowder, bein' civil and all that. You coming to Harlan without shooting anybody, that's nice, too. When you didn't come back and didn't answer your cell my imagination ran wild, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Raylan rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry, Art."

Art felt like giving him hell about it a little longer, but it was Christmas Eve and he refrained. Raylan had a lump the size of a baseball on the side of his head that had to be hurting something awful.

"It's okay. I'll let you sweat on it when you're back up to a hundred percent. It ain't fun kicking you while you're down."

"I'm moved" Raylan said, but he smiled.

"Hey, Tim!"

Deputy Gutterson came over to them. "You rang?"

"Me and Raylan are gonna get something to drink when we're back in Lexington. My Christmas Eve plans have been fucked up as it is, so why not draw it out a little? You wanna join us?"

Tim shrugged. "Sure, why not. You got a place in mind?"

"Well, how does my office sound?"

"Sounds good."

They all got in their separate cars, Raylan bunking with Art since he was obviously way too tired to drive his Lincoln back to Lexington himself. Art had one of the Marshals take it. Ten minutes into the drive, Raylan was already fast asleep in the passenger seat, and Art smiled at him and sighed.

Raylan Givens, the Christmas Miracle, he thought and shook his head at that. Thankfully, it had not become the worst Christmas Eve he'd ever had.

* * *

It sure as hell wasn't the worst Christmas I ever had - I actually think it was one of the best, ever!

Now, with this story it all went kinda backwards - all I knew was I wanted Boyd and Raylan in a closet together for a couple hours^^ The rest of the ideas I had to wrestle around with to fit the closet in the middle of it. And it all came to me by itself, once I stopped thinking about it too hard, and just listened to some country and let my imagination run its course. Seems like that's the best way to do it. Again, I hope you enjoyed, and if you're inclined to review, I won't be inclined to say no.


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